Page 89 of Jingle Spells

“Yes, about you!” Zahir exclaimed. “You haven’t shown up for work or called in sick. They were concerned.”

“We overheard them talking about checking the basement,” Aphra continued. “And James Bond over here lost his shit.”

“I lost no such thing,” Zahir protested.

“Oh really? When the officers called out, ‘Anyone down there?’ This genius yells, ‘No one, Officer!’”

Jasper stared at them, momentarily speechless.

“In my defense,” Zahir said, “I’m a chef, not a spy.”

“We had to make a run for it,” Aphra concluded. “Out the emergency exit. The alarm went off.”

“Which was actually helpful,” Zahir added, “because it masked the sound of us knocking over a shelf of county tax records from 1973. But look at the upside: people do actually miss you at work.”

Aphra nodded but added, “On the down side, we are definitely on a watchlist now.”

Delilah laid a comforting hand on Jasper’s arm. “We’ve still got Scarlett and Nate.”

Indeed, Scarlett had insisted on making the final attempt, dragging a reluctant Nate along. “If anyone can pull off a heist, it’s me,” she’d declared. “I’ve been training for this my whole life.”

“Repeat viewings of the Ocean’s Eleven series doesn’t count as training.”

“Oh ye of little faith. Sit tight, folks. Nate and I have got this.”

The waiting stretched out, minutes bleeding into hours. The basement grew quieter. Through narrow windows near the ceiling, everyone could see the sun going down. The day was nearly over, and the clerk’s office would be closing soon.

Jasper found himself staring at Delilah’s profile. Her pointy chin, the slight furrow between her brows, the way her hair curled against her neck. He was memorizing her, he realized. For all the good it would do.

The coal chute rattled, interrupting his thoughts. Scarlett slid down first, her face flushed with excitement that quickly turned to disappointment when she saw their expectant faces.

“We almost had it,” she announced.

Nate followed, his hands wrapped in what appeared to be improvised bandages made from his own shirt. “Sorry, Jasper. Really sorry.”

“We were brilliant,” Scarlett began. “First, we ditched your car two blocks away and approached on foot.”

“Clever,” Jasper admitted.

“Then we noticed the police were still there,” Nate continued, “so Scarlett created a distraction.”

“What kind of distraction?” Delilah asked suspiciously.

“I may have broken a window, which set off some sort of alarm.” Scarlett shrugged. “But it was for the greater good. While everyone rushed over to see what set off the alarm, we slipped in through the back door. Found your office exactly where you said it would be. Agnes’s creepy old portrait was right there on the wall. I swear, Jasper, she was watching us. Her eyes followed us around the room.”

“That’s just a trick of the paint,” Jasper said, though he’d made the same observation many times.

“So Nate checked behind the portrait,” Scarlett said, “and there it was! A secret compartment with an old parchment inside.”

Jasper leaned forward. “You found it? The spell?”

“The parchment is behind Agnes’s portrait, just like you thought it might be,” Scarlett explained. “But when Nate tried to take it, it . . . rejected him.”

“Painfully,” Nate added. “He unwrapped one hand to reveal angry red burns across his palm. “When I tried to touch it, this happened. It was like trying to grab a hot coal. I tried with my gloves on, too, but my gloves just caught fire. I’m definitely not allowed to touch that thing.”

Jasper hadn’t felt so ashamed in a long time. “God, Nate, I’m so sorry. I hate that you got hurt over this.”

“I’ll be all right—don’t you worry about it. Sorry I couldn’t grab it for you.”